Blending
by cmr2014
Summary: Sometimes it's better to blend than stand out.


DISCLAIMER: Supernatural and its characters belong to…I'm pretty sure they still belong to Eric Kripke. Robert Singer, maybe? Whoever the showrunner is this season? Look, they ain't mine, ok? Yeesh.

 **Blending**

Dean had driven for 24 hours. That was usually how he preferred it, being behind the wheel. Sam could appreciate that; his brother was connected to the Impala on a level he simply wasn't.

But at a certain point, no matter how willing the spirit may be, the body just needs to rest. This was Sam's turn to drive, while Dean slept in the passenger seat. He wasn't connected to the car in the way Dean was, but could still drive her smoothly enough; at least, that's how it was with Dean sleeping. It occurred to him that when he drove her without Dean around, there was just a hint of sluggishness. Reluctance, he would say, if he were describing a person.

Hmm. Who really was driving whom here?

He was yanked from his thoughts by what looked like strobing cherries in the rearview.

Under the limit. Car in good condition, nothing broken. Their belts were on. Most likely a bored badge looking to break up the monotony. Or generate some revenue. Maybe both.

Dean never really liked to act a citizen. They dealt with plenty of badges in their unusual line of work, but it was generally his view that on the clock you worked _with_ them, off it you worked _around_ them. He had no trouble throwing his fake weight around.

Sam shrugged. There was no pressing need he could see for that here. No case to get to. No reason to stick out.

Sometimes the smoothest way to deal with a cop isn't to steamroll over him, but just to be the citizen the badge expects.

Sam hit the blinker and pulled over, putting the Impala in PARK. Selected civilian DLs with matching papers from the visor, slid it back up where the other fakes wouldn't be seen.

A knock at the window. Not demanding. That was a good sign. Sam rolled it down.

"Good afternoon, sir."

"Afternoon," the badge responded, like agreeing that it was, in fact, afternoon. Not a statie uniform. They weren't in town proper. Sheriff's Department, then. Not real friendly, but not hostile, either. "License and registration, please."

Sam kept Dean's license out of sight as he handed over his and the registration. No need to be too eager to address everything at once, it draws attention. When blending, stay cool. It's amazing how many first-time drug smugglers are caught because they get stopped for a something minor and say something stupid like, "We're not smuggling any drugs, honest!" and trigger a search of the vehicle.

"The car's not registered to you?"

"No, sir, to Sleeping Beauty next to me. He's pretty zonked, can I just give you his license?"

The badge leaned in just a bit to take a look at the passenger. That's right, badge, he's not a kidnap victim, just sound asleep. No need to make a mountain out of a molehill just because a passenger's napping.

Leaned back out. "Sure. That'll be fine."

Now Sam produced Dean's license and gave it to him.

"Wait here. Please don't exit the car unless I ask you to." Without waiting for an answer, the badge went back to his cruiser. Sam shifted his eyes to the rearview, watching him on the radio. Nothing untoward.

As long as things were going smoothly, may as well pass the time while he covertly monitored the situation. 1 and 1 is 2; 1 and 2 is 3; 2 and 3 is 5; 3 and 5 is 8; 5 and 8 is…

He was up to 317,811 when the badge exited his cruiser and returned to the Impala. Hadn't taken very long to get that high. That was a good sign; the longer it takes, the more likely it is you've been flagged. Blending is always a gamble, playing the odds, and there are times when that doesn't pay out.

Fortunately, they are outnumbered by the times it does.

"It appears everything's in order."

"That's good to know," Sam said. He called up the memory of acing a particularly hard test at Stanford. The relieved smile responded to his summons, appearing just as it would for a citizen. Then he cancelled it in exchange for a look of uncertainty. "May I ask why I was pulled over? Do I need to get a taillight fixed or something?"

"No. You just have out-of-state plates is all, and it's pretty standard for us to check out people passing through. We're not on a trafficking route, and we'd like to keep it that way. But…well, I did have another reason, Mr. Hickok."

"I'm your huckleberry."

That finally elicited a grin, though it was unclear whether the badge was amused at what appeared to be ignorance, or if he grasped that it was just a fun line to use even if it wasn't Wild Bill Hickok credited with saying it. Sam really didn't care either way, as long as the man was at ease. "I notice this is a 'sixty-seven. I've got a 'sixty-nine at home and…"

Sam had picked up enough from listening to Dean that he was able to talk car for a while. It wasn't a bad way to pass ten minutes. The encounter ended far more pleasantly than perhaps it would have if he'd popped a nickel-slick badge and played the "mine's bigger" game.

Sometimes it's just better to blend. Now the local had a car that checked out and a guy willing to chat with a badge. Not someone suspicious and eager to floor it, and not an asshole fed that left hard feelings in his wake. Just a citizen.

After the car talk and directions to an inn the next county over that Heisenberg may or may not have stayed at (part of blending is having a reason for going the way you're going, tourist attractions cover that nicely), the Impala was back on the road.

"Good job back there."

Sam glanced over at Dean. "You're supposed to be asleep."

"Was until you stopped. Can't sleep in my baby without the RPMs up."

"But you didn't move. Hell, you still aren't. It's kind of creepy, your mouth moving with your eyes shut and head lolled like that."

A trace of a smirk appeared on for-all-appearances-sleeping Dean. "Like I said, you did a good job. Probably not what I would have done, took longer than my way, but maybe the results were better."

"Yeah?"

"If you can't be forgotten, at least be remembered in a good light."

"Huh. So anyway then, where're we going?"

"Dunno. But we'll get somewhere, Sammy. We just gotta keep driving."


End file.
